Steel and Stone
by HeCallsMeHisChild
Summary: Every week it's the same. Every trip is routine. Only, this time, things don't go according to plan. Oneshot. Implied ZADF, not ZADR.


**Note: **Implied ZADF. Not ZADR. And update, the cover art for this was a fanart drawn for this oneshot a long time ago by SobafanaticofDOOM on Deviantart. She has since moved to the account Skeletalcloset, but still, go give her page some love, the picture she drew for this story is amazing fullsize!

…..

_Alert. Alert. All personnel are to be armed and prepared. This is not a drill. Alert. There has been a security breach._

He clenched his fists, his gloves making rubbery, scrunching noises. Moments before the sector was announced, he knew which one it would be.

_Security has been breached from sector 34-x5._

He stood, ignoring the frantic scurry all around him. Three long strides took him across the room where he snatched up his tazer and keys. He wouldn't need the tazer, but it was part of the charade.

He slipped into his Ford, twisting the key three times to start the engine. It sputtered and whined, but ground to life. He wrenched the stick around and rolled out of the laboratory's parking lot. True, he could afford to travel in style, but he'd found this car useful when subtlety was required.

The drive wasn't a long one, it never was. He had made it so many times, he could get there in his sleep. Within five minutes, the cemetery gates loomed in front of him. Wrought iron, rusted and overgrown with ivy, they bore the words "Requiescat in pace."

His car jerked to a halt with a whiplash motion, and the door swung open. His boots crunched on the gravel, the sound echoing among the gravestones. Pausing for a moment at the gate, he took a few breaths to calm himself. Steel, he reminded himself. Do not be moved, be steel. Nodding firmly to himself, he swung the gates open. The screech of ancient mental scattered a flock of nervous birds from the nearby tree. The path wound in gentle curves back and forth, like a river. Ignoring the path, he trudged in a straight line toward the only grave that mattered.

The creature was already there, just like the week before, and the week before that, and the week before that. It knelt directly in front of the tombstone, red eyes fixed on the engraving, hardly moving. The only signs of life were the occasional flicker of the antennae and the rapid breathing patterns.

He didn't bother creeping up on it, he knew it wouldn't run. He stopped beside it and crouched, averting his eyes from the headstone. "Do you realize how much trouble this is, your weekly 'excursion'? It's getting harder to explain how I bring you back every time."

The creature didn't answer. It reached out a spindly claw, long stripped of the trademark black gloves it had always worn, and traced the letters in the stone. He flinched at the sight of the scars covering the alien's skin like a web. He never participated in the vivisections, but he knew of them. The alien hadn't spoken in three years, so he was shocked when its odd, stilted voice broke the silence.

"Why?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why? Why is your kind so short lived? Why are there those with even less living?"

Pressing his lips together, he forced himself to focus on the alien, not on the grave. "It's just the way we evolved. It's not your problem, it's not your business. You've had your time here, now get up."

Most of the time, it would respond to him. It would stand and follow, mutely, to the car. In the parking lot, it would submit to the tazer, and he would be carried in and locked up again. This time, it remained, trailing its claws over the name.

"Where were you?" It whispered. "He wanted you. He kept asking me to get you."

"Be quiet."

"I couldn't. I knew what you'd do to me. I tried every way but facing you, but you never came."

"Shut up."

"It hurt him. I could see. He taught me what feelings look like on a face, and he—"

"SHUT UP!" His fist whipped out before he could think, sending the small creature head over heels into the next headstone. It lay dazed for a moment, allowing the metal thing on its back to adjust for bone damage. His eyes flicked to the gravestone, then closed tightly.

_Dib Membrane. Beloved son and friend._

He stood, bending over to lift the alien to its feet. Head down, antennae low in the submissive posture, it followed him to the Ford, climbing into the passenger's seat. His anger was crumbling fast, and he had to make it back to the labs. Throwing the car into gear, he tore out of the lot.

Once at the labs, he reached for the tazer. His hand was arrested by a rasping vocal sound. He turned to see the alien's entire body seizing up, its head thrown back, and its eyes bulging. Its PAK poured out smoke and sparks as it thrashed back and forth. Alarmed, he opened his cell phone and dialed the emergency lab number. Seconds later, dozens of white-coated scientists poured from the building with complex equipment, shouting orders and swarming the car. The alien was extracted from the vehicle and hooked up to machine after machine, as many as could fit in the small space. The spasms brought on violent coughing, and blood flew from its mouth.

Attendants began moving the equipment inside the lab, wheeling the alien on a gurney. Millions of dollars had been poured into this project, and they weren't about to give this opportunity up.

…

One week later, he found himself making the same drive. He'd brought his tazer out of habit, but this time he left it in the car. He walked the path, following its gentle twists this time, and hesitantly approached the grave. No red-eyed figure waited there. For the first time in three years, Professor Membrane approached his son's grave alone. Kneeling, he brought his gaze to focus on the letters carved in stone, and lifted a gloved finger to them. Quietly, he traced them, and felt the last of his steel reserve crumble away.


End file.
